


Dry Spell

by SoU2019



Series: Royed OTPoly 2020 SoU [11]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Arm Wrestling, Attempt at Humor, Banter, Blind Date, Ed is 20, Flirting, I'm a basic person I like writing first times, Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon, Romance, SoUarchive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:40:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoU2019/pseuds/SoU2019
Summary: A playboy colonel was sexy, a playboy general… Well, that was just asking for trouble.(AKA: Blind date gone horribly right)
Relationships: Edward Elric/Roy Mustang
Series: Royed OTPoly 2020 SoU [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1815196
Comments: 12
Kudos: 136
Collections: RoyEd OTPoly 2020





	Dry Spell

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt for RoyEd OTPoly  
> Level: Hotel  
> (Dry spell+team mustang setting up a date+it's not Ed)  
> fml I don't get paid to edit so enjoy the errors.

Madame Christmas had told him, many years ago, that his playboy persona would only get him so far in life, and she had been right.

A playboy colonel was sexy, a playboy general… Well, that was just asking for trouble. He hadn’t had a meaningful relationship since East City, and he hadn’t had any sort of sex in over half a year. Roy groans as he slumps onto his desk sending papers flying in all directions, and a couple of pencils clattering to the ground. A man couldn’t live on bread and water! How was he going to make it through the next General Assembly if he couldn’t focus on anything for longer than an hour? Technically, he could go down to the nearest bar, and pick the most attractive person to take home, but he would be risking his position. He was a general, there were half a dozen generals who wanted to see him dead or disgraced, and they would do anything to make him fall. The random bar person could easily be one of Hakuro’s spies who could do anything from rifle through his documents to spreading gossip about his ‘performance in bed’.

Far too much of his own intelligence was gathered by Madame’s girls, who took advantage of the lonely generals and their subordinates. He would be damned if he fell prey to his own tricks. 

The soft creak of his office door stopped his train of thought, and he rolled his head to the side just enough to see Havoc stepping into his line of sight.

“Uh, what’s wrong Mustang?” Havoc asks, slowly stepping towards him.

Roy rolls his head back to its original position. It is much easier to stare at the microscopic details of his desk, than try to organize his thoughts into something communicable. 

“Mustang?” Havoc repeats, sounding concerned.

“ _ Eurgh _ ” is the sound that emerges from his throat.

Havoc seems to take that as an answer, and he starts to slowly step back out the way he came. “I’ll come back later then.” He says, and the door finally clicks shut.

Six. Fucking. Months. How is a man supposed to live like this!? He hasn’t had a dry spell this long since his teenage years! His legs clench as the throb of sexual frustration pluses through him for the thousandths time that day. If masturbation was a sport, he’d be an olympic champion; unfortunately it isn’t, and he isn’t, and it’s not the same as having a warm body to fuck, or to be fucked with. His slouch deepens, and his chair begins to slide backwards, he doesn’t care, the whole building could fall down and he wouldn’t notice. A small part of his brain is screaming at him to sit up, but before he can listen to it, the chair slips out from under him and he crashes onto the floor. The floor is nice, maybe he’ll just stay here all day.

The door slams open, and Hawkeye’s boots come into view. “Mustang!?” She barks out, looking around for any potential enemies.

“Eurgh.” 

Riza looks down at him, her concern quickly fading into annoyance, “Are you injured?” She asks sharply.

“Eurgh.” He flops a hand out towards her as a response. It hits the carpet, and she stares down at him with the most unamused look he has seen in a very long time.

The commotion has brought all of his men to his door, and they stand there gawking at him. Roy doesn’t care, he is well past caring. He just wants to lay here until he dies and his body decomposes into this ancient carpet. Maybe that’s what mysterious stain #34 by the filing cabinet is, some other general who died and eventually liquified on his own carpet.

“He’s been weird all week.” Havoc says from the doorway.

“Yeah, he hasn’t been in a good mood for ages.” Fuery says.

“Did he get dumped?” Asks Breda.

They all turn to look at him, and he tries to ignore the millions of bacteria that must have already migrated out of the carpet and onto his face.

“Eurgh.” Is what he finally settles on.

He can feel the ground shaking with the reverberations of Riza’s eyeroll, “Is this about Susana?” She asks, her tone clearly indicating that she thinks he is worth less than the dust on the window sill.

“No.” He says, but his tone betrays the truth.

“Susana?” Falman asks.

“A woman he gave his number to.” She sighs, “I suspect she never called.”

“Eurgh.” He punctuates it with a wave of his boneless arm that ends with a thud onto the carpet.

“Your mother  _ owns  _ a brothel,” Hawkeye says scathingly, “hire a prostitute.”

The symphony of responses is drowned out by the repulsion in Roy’s mind. He couldn’t hire a prostitute! All of his mother’s girls were essentially his sisters, and those who weren’t were vicious gossips. To have sex with one would be to have sex with them all, and he couldn’t stomach the thought.

“No!” he says, rolling to lay on his back. “They tell each other everything! I would never be able to have a family meal again!”

“Havoc,” Hawkeye says, “I don’t care who or what, but find him a date for tonight. Someone who will take care of his ‘man problems’. She turns sharply and exits, leaving the four other soldiers to stare at him in her place.

\---

Havoc had said that this ‘Jasmine’ was a ‘good time’, but frankly he was not seeing the appeal. Sure, she was pretty enough, but her main attraction were the basketball sized boobs that seemed to be on the verge of falling off and rolling away. It was difficult to try and maintain any sort of conversation when your attention was engulfed by the very real possibility that the silicon implants would burst if he so much as touched them. 

She was on her third cocktail, and he was nursing his beer when his attention was drawn to the far corner of the room where a young man seemed to be challenging everyone in the bar to an arm wrestling challenge. He couldn’t see the man’s face, but the glint of blond hair was unmistakable. No one but Edward Elric had that shade of hair, and no one but Edward Elric would be arm wrestling an entire bar at 11pm on a Friday night. He wasn’t quite sure what excuse he gave this ‘Jasmine’ but he paid her tab, and made his way towards the commotion. It was surprisingly difficult to break through the wall of spectators, but he finally made it close enough to be able to see over the wall of bikers and self-described bodybuilders.

Ed was sitting at a booth, his legs spread wide for balance, and his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow. His right arm was straining under the pressure his opponent was forcing against it. The man was easily twice Ed’s weight, and probably a head taller than him, but Ed didn’t seem fazed by his opponent, and with little more than a twitch, he slammed the man’s hand down on the table. The crowd erupted into cheers, and the burly man tossed Ed a bill. 

Ed has been gone for over four years. He hasn’t so much as seen a photograph of the man since he left Central with Alphonse, and the change is stunning. The boy who had punched a god had turned into one. The sharply defined jawline was cradled by thick strands of spun gold that was held in a ponytail that easily reached his lower back. The slim shoulders had broadened and the confidence that was so abundant in Ed as a child had matured into something that suited this man perfectly. At 20, Ed was an Adonis, and he could see several of the observers salivating over this casual display of strength.

“I’m next.” a gruff voice said beside him, and Roy snapped out of his daydreams and turned to see an absolute mountain of a man push through to the front. He slid into the booth infront of Ed, and held out his hand. Ed leaned back assessing him.

“Ya wanna fight me with your dominant hand?” Ed asks, his voice taunting, “Is it your strongest arm because you jerk off with it in your sad little one bedroom apartment?”

The man sneers, and the crowd laughs. Ed sits back as the man withdraws his right hand, and extends his left. Roy wants to laugh at the obvious manipulation. Ed might have recovered his right hand, but his left one is the limb that has several more years of consistent use.

“Three, two, one.” Ed says, and immediately begins to tighten his grip, his muscles contracting, his veins weaving patterns over tensed muscle. Roy knows better than to judge a person’s strength by their size. Ed might appear to be less muscular than his challengers, but that did not mean he was any weaker. As if to prove his point, Ed chose that exact second to smash the mountain’s hand into the table. The applause was deafening.

“I’m next.” He heard himself say, and the crowd parted enough to let him through to the front.

Ed’s eyes widened, “The fuck are you doing here?” 

“Challenging you to an arm wrestling challenge apparently.” Roy replies.

“No ‘you missed me’ or ‘why didn’t you come to the office’?” Ed asks.

“Mmm, you wouldn’t appreciate that.” Roy says, extending his right arm as he slides into the booth.

Ed stares at him for a moment, before focusing on the offered hand. Roy might be wrong but he thinks he sees Ed’s hand tremble for a second before it wraps around his own. It suddenly occurs to him that this is probably the first time he has touched Ed without the barrier of the glove between them. The thought sends waves of heat through him, but he keeps his face neutral as Ed begins the count down.

“Three, two, one.”

Roy feels Ed attempt to get him in a hook, but he holds firm, and Ed switches tactics to toproll, but Roy compensates, and pulls Ed’s arm closer causing the young man to lose the advantage of balance.

“Fuck you.” Ed hisses, as he fights back.

“Not unless you ask nicely.” Roy replies, attempting a sudden jerk, but finding that Ed’s strength holds out, he tries to realign his shoulders to give him more power, but Ed won’t let him shift.

They sit there, hands intertwined, and arms locked in an unwavering grip. Ed shifts slightly, and Roy takes this opportunity to perform a quick top roll that manages to dislodge Ed’s arm just enough to leave only an inch of space between the table and the back of Ed’s hand. They stay like that for an eternity, Ed doing his utmost to keep his hand off the table, and Roy focusing on closing that tiny space.

“Time!” an observer calls, and they both withdraw their hands. The crowd is murmuring, but Roy doesn’t care.

“You have good technique.” He says, and he could swear Ed blushes, but in this lighting it is hard to tell.

“Arm wrestling is the one good thing Creta has to offer.” Ed says, glancing off to the side, and waving off a new competitor. The crowd groans, but the music and bar provide plenty of distractions, and the crowd slowly disperses.

Roy laughs, “I thought you would like Cretan food, it is very diverse.”

“Fine. I liked the arm wrestling and the food.” Ed says, “I didn’t like anything else.”

“So what exactly were you doing there for two and a half years?” He asks.

“Research.” Ed says, fiddling with the bills he won as arm wrestling champion. “The conclusion of which was that Creta sucks, and I needed to get out.”

“Let me guess,” Roy drawls out, “you managed to irritate someone rich and powerful, so you had to escape before they turned you into a rug.”

Ed scowls, “Piss off.”

Roy laughs, when was the last time he laughed? Surely it must have been over a week ago! He can easily imagine Ed somehow destroying the presidential palace, and having to make a dash for the Amestrian border before the hoards of angry Cretan’s catch him. He wipes a tear from his eyes.

“I’ve missed you Edward.” He says once his laughter has subsided.

Ed shrugs, “Same, I guess. It’s been a while.” He says, “What’s new?”

\---

“-And then I took his stupid ass and dumped it into the Sarlay River, where it still is bobbing around like a drunk duck.” Ed says, and Roy doesn’t bother hiding the jaw breaking grin. Ed shifts uncomfortably under the gaze.

“Are you drunk, Roy?” He asks, “You’re looking at me weird.”

“Not at all.” Roy says blissfully, “I am just enthralled by your incomparable story telling.”

“Bullshit.” Ed says, “You’re drunker than Major Shaldon at that New Year’s Eve party.”

It had really been too long since he had last had a conversation with this man. The brute honesty, and the open facial expressions were a welcome change from the lies and manipulations of his everyday life. There were times when he feared that he would forget how to be honest, and that was a thought that kept him up at night. It was so easy to lie, too easy, and he knew that the majority of his everyday interactions were made up of facades, lies, and manipulations. Hawkeye hid her true feeling under a mask that he only occasionally saw past, Havoc and Breda were good men, but he was their boss and they treated him accordingly--most of the time anyways--and Fuery kept up the facade of brave soldier, when it was obvious that his nightmares kept him up most nights. Even Falman, who was arguably the most open and honest of his men, kept his own council. Maes had been the only other person who had been so open with him, and he was long dead. Honesty is a rare gem, and maybe,--if he played his cards right--he might be able to get close enough to absorb some of that honesty through osmosis.

Roy reaches out, and clasps both his hands around Ed’s right hand. “No, Edward, I have only had one drink, and I abandoned that one over two hours ago.”

Ed turns a charming shade of red, but doesn’t make a move to free his hand, “Your date that bad?”

“Blind dates don’t always work out the way they were intended.” He says, drawing circles into Ed’s skin with his thumbs. “Sometimes,” He looks directly at Ed, “They turn out so much better than you could have hoped for.”

“Am  _ I  _ drunk, or are you  _ flirting  _ with me?” Ed says.

“I certainly hope you aren’t drunk,” Roy drawls, “I would like to think that no one I would like to think that your blush has everything to do with me, and nothing to do with the alcohol content in your drink.”

If Ed had looked charming in red, he looks positively irresistible in purple. “Fucking hell! I barely spent a day back in Central and you are already trying to get into my pants.” Ed says, “The fuck you flirting with me though? There’s no way you’ve run out of women in Central, unless you’ve been having back-to-back foursomes every night for the past few years.”

“I am flattered that you think that would be even possible.” Roy says, “And no, I haven’t run out of women, I just happened to notice you have changed significantly since I last saw you,” He lets his eyes slowly roam Ed’s form, “and I was wondering to which point that change extends.” He let his eyes linger at the base of Ed’s torso.

“I thought you’d be all about the slow courtship and romance shit.” Ed manages, sounding like his throat was made of sandpaper.

“Normally, yes.” Roy says, “However; I have had a very trying year, and I think that being direct is the best way to approach you.”

“Being direct, huh?” Ed says, his voice stronger. “So, Mustang, what exactly do you want with me, or is this all some new bastard manipulation technique?”

Roy squeezes his hands, “I want whatever you’ll give me, Edward.”

“You mean that?” Ed asks, looking up at him through his eyelashes.

“Of course.”

“Well, in that case.” Ed says grinning, before vaulting around the table to land beside Roy in the booth. He sits looking directly at him before hauling him down into a brutal kiss.

It takes him by surprise, but the hand digging into his shirt grounds him, and he lets Ed press him hard into the back of the booth. It’s hard and rough, with Ed nipping at his lips, and tugging at his hair, but it is such a departure from his usual sexual encounters that he finds himself straining in his trousers from nothing more than Ed’s hand in his hair.

They both have a bit of stubble poking through after a long day, and he revels in the sensation of another man’s 5 o’clock shadow. The pleasure only increases when Ed finally breaks the kiss, and begins to mouth his way down Roy’s jaw to his neck, the roughness making Roy’s skin breakout in goosebumps.

“Ah-Ed!” He gasps, as the man sucks a bruise into the skin just below his collar, the shiver that runs through his body making Ed smirk as he pulls back.

“Well,” Ed begins, wiping his mouth, “We could either continue this in the washroom, or you can take me to your place and we can fuck on your couch.”

He does his best to straighten himself up without pushing Ed any further away, “The couch? Why not the bed?” He asks.

The grin Ed sends him is slightly terrifying, “Who says we aren’t gonna use the bed?” The grin grows impossibly wider, “We’ll be starting on your couch because I don’t think we’ll make it to the bed before I shove my dick down your throat.”

“Sounds like an interesting evening.” Roy says pushing Ed to a standing position.

“Pretty sure its past midnight,” Ed says, extending a hand towards him, “I hope you don’t have anything scheduled for tomorrow cause you’re gonna have to cancel.”

He quirked an eyebrow, “These had better be cheques that your body can cash.”

“I’m not the one I’m worried about.” Ed says, turning to haul him towards the door. “I’m not sure someone your age can handle it.”

Roy swats at him, but Ed just laughs and steps just out of reach. “You’ll pay for that.” He says, the tone not nearly as severe as he intended, but it’s hard to care when he has Edward Elric twisting and weaving through crowds in front of him, his body like quick silver as he sidesteps dancing pairs, and drunken brutes.

“I hope so!” Ed laughs, turning his head just enough to send him a devastating wink.

Oh, this was going to be fun.


End file.
